Chocolate Coated Confessions
by djin
Summary: In which Hermione talks, and Harry doesn't listen. Which, for once, might be a good thing.


Chocolate-Coated Confessions 

Drama/Angst

In which Hermione talks, and Harry doesn't listen. Which, for once, might be a good thing.

Hermione dreaming. Thoughts trailing thoughts chasing images, running circles in her mind...

A sharp sound returned her to the waking world. Bleary-eyed, she glanced at her watch, a mechanical masterpiece her father had presented to her on her 16th birthday. It was ten past two... who would be awake at this ungodly hour? Hermione rubbed her eyes.

Perhaps it was Luna. The young Ravenclaw seemed to have a penchant for the decidedly odd - Hermione had been terrified a few nights ago hearing her mysterious, sinister hum on the way to the bathroom. She'd proven herself, certainly, in the events at the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione tried her best to understand her... but there was something unnervingly incomprehensible about the girl. Her fantastical beliefs, in which she held such faith - admittedly one of her beliefs was Harry, for which Hermione was greatly appreciative, but Hermione occasionally worried that Luna's somewhat disturbed mental faculties would one day endanger Harry and them all. Certainly Harry had enough troubles of his own...

A second knock, slightly louder this time, demanded action.

A sudden suspicion sent a chill of fear through Hermione - Luna had never knocked on her door before, midnight rambles notwithstanding. Grimmauld Place was Unplottable, under the Fidelius Charm, warded from vision and attack by complex intricate and intriguing spells - yet Hermione's best efforts to calm her growing rise of panic came to naught. Intellect warred instinct for a moment; then Hermione broke the deadlock by reaching out for her wand on the dresser. It was perfectly safe, it was Luna come to disturb her nightly rest over some imaginary creature - but Hermione would not be unprepared.

Cautiously, wand gripped tight in hand, she headed for the door. She mentally blessed the furry slippers on her feet; Ginny had laughed, once, but for now Hermione greatly appreciated her silenced footsteps. She glanced at the sleeping girl, flaming red hair in disarray. Wake her up, to provide backup and support? Tempting, but no... there was nothing dangerous out there, and Ginny would laugh at her in the morning. Perfectly safe. But she kept her wand ready at eye level as she cautiously turned the doorknob, and flung open the door-

a flash, a sharp pain in her hand, tumbling- Hermione gasped and closed her eyes, preparing for the worse-

"Hermione?" Familiar tones sounded. A hand reached for hers, and gently helped her up. She opened her eyes.

"Ro- Harry! What are you doing!" she exclaimed, channelling her fear and mounting relief into spoken indignation.

"Sorry about that. Overreacted..." he muttered. Satisfied that she was upright and unhurt, he cast about the floor momentarily and returned her fallen wand to her hand.

"It's okay, nothing's broken, I'm fine, but what are you doing here? You should be in bed, I should be in bed, there was this most amazing dream..." she said, words chasing words in an adrenaline rush of relieved speech. She blushed, embarrassed.

That had been the wrong thing to say. Harry's face grew dark, unpleasant. "Bad dream?" she asked, concerned. She should have known better. Harry was plagued by visions, and nightmares, and pains in his scar. Especially after the death of his godfather. She'd done what she could. Potions of dreamless sleep, reminders to practice Occlumency... she winced. That last suggestion had not gone well. Though in the past few days, he seemed to have improved. He'd stopped, well, _obsessing_ over his photo album - which was a relief, it had been getting almost scary - but if he'd just talk to her about Sirius...

A noncommittal shrug seemed the only answer he was prepared to give. His eyes cast about the room, taking in Hermione, Ginny sleeping, the two empty bunks in the corner. He gave a disappointed sigh, turned to leave, then stopped when Hermione grabbed his shoulder.

"Is there anything you want to ask me, Harry?" she asked, voice full of concern. He seemed torn, uncertain, head wanting to go, heart wanting to stay... He sighed, again.

"Would you like to join me for hot chocolate? Downstairs?" he asked.

Sugar. She'd have to brush her teeth again. Then she stopped herself. Her friend, in pain, was asking her to keep him company, and here she was thinking about dental hygiene? Madness!

"Of course, Harry!" she replied brightly. Perhaps Harry was finally ready to talk about Sirius's... passing, now that Ron wasn't there to stop him. Nothing against Ron, of course, he was loyal and brave and wonderful, Hermione thought the world of him, but sometimes she wished that he wouldn't get in the way of her advice.

They trudged down to the kitchen in silence. Thankfully, the portrait of Mrs. Black did not stir. In a strange turn of events, Harry sat at exactly the opposite end of the table that she'd expected him to. Hesitantly, she joined Harry, but by unspoken agreement she avoided a certain chair just opposite him.

She'd been about to speak, but Harry rose from his chair. With practiced ease he extracted two mugs, milk and chocolate from a drawer. She watched him prepare hot chocolate, noting with slight disapproval as he tapped his wand against the mugs. The Ministry had relaxed the guidelines, yes, but magic was meant for self-defence or emergency situations, not household heating charms. Still, she hadn't the heart to reproach him.

She was rather surprised, however, when he removed a packet of marshmallows from another drawer. The brightly coloured contents rather clashed with the terse atmosphere of gloom; on reflection she decided it was a good thing. He'd automatically taken four marshmallows out, placed two in one mug and had been about to drop the rest in the other when he'd abruptly stopped.

"Marshmallows?" he asked her. She shook her head firmly, resisting temptation. Hot chocolate with company was one thing, but she'd enforce discipline about what she ate.

Replacing the marshmallows, he extracted a pair of spoons from a pyjama pocket, stirred the contents of the mugs, and joined her. Idly she wondered how he slept with those on.

She took a sip from her mug, and watched him do the same. Too sweet, she briefly thought, then launched into conversation, planned speech forgotten.

"So... how's things? With Sirius?"

Harry choked, and dropped the mug. Spluttering, he choked out "No, not now. Not him."

"Why not? It'd be good to talk, it'll make things easier on yourself. And-" His glare cut her off mid-stride.

"I don't want to talk about Sirius." The words had a dangerous air of finality to them, he looked ready to explode. Hermione had been around him too long not to recognize danger signals, she stopped before either of them did something rash. From Ron, she'd barely it give a second thought, but from Harry...

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Desperate to look at anything besides Harry, she glanced about the room. It was cleaner than usual, now that they'd been allowed some degree of magic. Catching his eye by accident, she looked away, and noted old brown cocoa stains on the table by Sirius's chair. Odd. She took a long draught from her lukewarm mug, thinking up responses, staring into the murky brown dregs of her drink...

"I'm sorry. For snapping at you like that... it's just... hard, that's all..." She looked up, more surprised by any admission of possible weakness than his apology. "Do you..." - his eyes oddly bright - "do you think we'll ever see him again?"

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. Curse rationalism, she thought, curse books, curse logic! As much as she wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear, she could not, would not lie. There was no way to bring the dead to life. Even necromancy and the Dark Arts could only animate a body, raise it to some grotesque impersonation of existence... Hermione had spent quite some time researching this, distasteful as such works were, in the hope of offering some support to her friend; but all her work so far was of to no avail. Another sip, sweet taste out of place against a backdrop of bitter thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but he's dead. He's gone. He's not coming back." she said gently, patting him on the back in a vague attempt at reassuring him. As pathetic as it was, it seemed the only thing she felt she could do at the moment.

She'd expected him to rush off; or rant; or perhaps even burst into tears, which Hermione herself might have done. Instead, he sighed, gave her a weak smile, and spoke.

"Well, maybe he's not gone forever after all."

Hermione blinked. Had he heard her? Had she misheard him? His statement mystified her slightly; perhaps he'd found a wizarding portrait? Or some charmed artefact, like the Marauder's Map? Uncertain, she simply nodded.

"Not gone forever..." she repeated, her voice trailing off.

What to say, now? His faith in his godfather was unexpected, but welcome, she would not deprive him of his false hope. She cast about for some other topic to finish their conversation on this positive note- a random person came to mind. Decidedly random.

"She'll be back tomorrow. Luna, that is." Hermione said.

The first real smile she'd seen all night appeared on his face. "I know," he replied, looking more cheerful than she'd seen him in awhile. Hermione smiled back at him; if Luna's antics cheered Harry up, Hermione would be glad to see her return, odd or not. She'd just have to tolerate another week of Snorkacks and Humdingers and Heliopaths, then. Perhaps she ought to convince him to invite Fred and George as well... admittedly against her better judgement. Luna and the _twins_ - she giggled briefly, then quickly drained her mug in what she hoped was a reassuringly sensible and mature manner.

Still beaming, Harry rose and collected their mugs. She nodded approvingly as he washed up without magic, placing the cups on the counter to dry. She'd clear them in away in the morning, she decided, there'd be harm in leaving them there for the night.

"Sorry for waking you up. And for burdening you with all my troubles", he said, approaching her. Hermione stood up to face him, and looked him straight in the eye.

"Don't worry about it. You do know we're here for you, right Harry? If you need us, we'll always be here to help, Ron and I. No matter what."

An indescribable expression settled on his face.

"That's what makes it so difficult," he seemed to say, almost to himself. Hermione waited, but he declined to elaborate.

He escorted her back to her room, both climbing the stairs in silence. At the door, he held back momentarily, hesitant.

"Thanks." he said, in an murmured undertone.

Hermione looked hard at him. He looked old, and ever so tired, and she couldn't help feeling unsure if she'd been of any help whatsoever. Her mind, usually always ready with clever plans and useful facts, felt gummed down in treacle. There was no book on how to deal with a depressed, possessed friend. What to say? What could she say? But sixteen years of etiquette was a hard habit to break.

"You're welcome," she smiled weakly at him.

He rearranged his face into an attempt at a smile, bid her goodnight, and shut the door. As she returned to her bedside, searching for her toothbrush, she wondered if she'd be able to sleep again tonight.

Though ten minutes later, bedcovers snugly weapped around her, Hermione realized that Harry had been in a better mood than herself all along. She'd needn't have worried, really. And with that comforting thought, she drifted off to sleep.


End file.
